Harry Potter and the Trouble with Veela
by Shadows of Starlight
Summary: Something, or someone, is targeting the Veela population of Wizarding Britain and the Ministry of Magic is called to action. Auror Harry Potter isn't sure why, but he has a Very Bad Feeling about this. Veela!DracoxHarry, MM. DH compliant, but EWE .
1. Murphy's Law

Harry Potter and the Trouble with Veela

Summary: Something or someone is targeting the Veela population of Wizarding Britain, and the Ministry of Magic is called to action. Auror Harry Potter isn't sure why, but he has a Very Bad Feeling about this.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do, however, own my plot. This story is written for entertainment purposes only.

Chapter 1: Murphy's Law

Harry Potter groaned quietly in exasperation, shoving tanned fingers through his hair and mucking it up even more than usual. Properly dishevelled, he glared haphazardly at Kingsley's Head Auror badge wishing he would just get on with it already. Harry wasn't known for his wealth of patience on a good day, and today was most certainly not one of them. He could feel the headache stalking him.

"I trust there is a reason you came to see me?" Harry snapped, but quickly adopted a more neutral expression in light of the telltale arch of Kingsley's brow. "Er, you were saying?" he offered with a suitably sheepish grin.

"You've read this morning's Daily Prophet, yes?" the other man asked, helping himself to a candy Snitch currently hovering lazily above the bowl on Harry's desk. After third year, he'd quite lost the taste for chocolate, but Hermione never seemed to remember that.

"I think I have rather enough trash in my office as it is, thanks," Harry replied a little too loftily.

"Potter," Kingsley growled, and Harry could easily picture him in Gryffindor red just then, jumping when the newspaper was shoved under his nose faster than a hippogriff.

Green eyes scanned the page warily, and widened as they made sense of it.

"The tenth Veela dead this week?" Harry shouted in startled disbelief, staring at the paper in horror. "Kingsley, what the blazes is going on?" He sank into the unforgiving chair with little grace. He wasn't particularly close to Bill, and frankly Fleur's cheek kisses made him blush, but Victoire was Veela, and the toddler had Harry wrapped around her delicate digits.

"Which is why we're stepping in. The Veela community is in a panic, and unless we want a full-scale rise to anarchy, we have to do something about it."

A fleeting sense of dread took up residence in the general region of Harry's stomach, and he frowned without knowing why. "Alright, but what will you have us do?" he asked, genuinely bemused.

Kingsley shifted backwards to better observe him. "Well, Potter, you're to go with a team to guard the local Veela in a secured location until we catch whoever is behind this. Your resistance to the Imperius Curse should come in handy, as research suggests that the Veela charm, allure, what-have-you, works in much the same way, and you're the only Auror in residence who can throw it off. Don't give me that look," Kingsley said gruffly, "you've been whinging for more field work for ages. 'I want to feel like an Auror, Kingsley! Not some paper-pushing intern.' Does that sound familiar?" he hedged, clapping a heavy hand on Harry's twitching shoulder and left before he had a chance to argue.

This time Harry let his head bang against the oak wood of his desk as he sighed, a small cloud of condensation appearing on the varnish. Only Ron and Hermione knew that he was in fact susceptible to Veela's presence, and recalled the World Cup clearly. He was going to make a complete prat of himself.

A few minutes later, he squared his shoulders and glanced down at the parchment that had materialized while he'd been moping. Right. He stretched a moment, stalling, then stood and removed his fussy black Auror's robes from the knob on the wall. Shrugging into them and realizing they were inside out, he hissed under his breath and not for the first time groused that despite all the advantages the magical community had, the Muggles had the right idea about proper uniforms for law enforcement officials. You'd never see a Muggle policeman trip over his robes while chasing a suspect, because they wore cuffed trousers. All hints, suggestions, queries, pleading, and threats to follow suit had been met with vicious refusal in the name of tradition. Of course you could always spell your robes to float away from your feet, but that imagery evoked strong memories of a certain Potions professor, and loads of bat jokes, so most Aurors just let it lie.

He took a final survey of the list of names, then a whispered Incendio destroyed it according to protocol. Dean, Ron, and two people Harry'd never worked with before were waiting just outside his door. He smiled briefly before re-settling the wards around his office, and approaching them, a bit of the apprehension lifting. If he had to suffer, at least he wouldn't have to go it alone.

Harry quickly realized why he didn't know the other two, as they were trainees, trainees who were eyeing Harry as though he were one of Molly's mince pies. With a resigned huff, he plucked up a handful of Floo powder and stepped through to a questionable fireplace, followed by the rest of his ragtag team in varying states of disarray. And promptly caught the toe of his standard issue shoe on an errant cinderblock. He landed in a wonky somersault, on his arse rather than his face, and for that he was vaguely grateful.

"Finally learnt your place, have you?" sneered a voice coolly from somewhere above him, and Harry went rigid from head to toe. That voice was terrifyingly familiar.

"Malfoy," he moaned in aggrieved dismay. He was going to murder Kingsley when he got back, if he got back, and looked up in trepidation to have his worst fears confirmed. It was indeed Draco Malfoy standing less than a metre away. Oh bloody hell. Had he survived Voldemort only to be snarked to death by his former enemy?

He schooled his features to mask the knee-jerk reaction to curse and run, and got to his feet with a wince.

"Why are you here, and where are the Veela?" Harry asked as evenly as he could, fingers curled loosely around the handle of his hidden wand.

He was certain that Malfoy swore under his breath then, if purebloods were prone to fits of such vulgar behaviour.

"Oh do give it up, Potter; the paranoid look went out of style ages ago." Draco paused to infringe upon Harry's personal space. "Tell me, now that the Dark Lord is gone, what need does the wizarding world have for a Saviour?" His voice was smooth as top cream and wound around Harry's insecurity like tendrils of Devil's Snare.

Trainees or no, Harry was going to strangle that pompous bigot with his bare hands. On a sibilant snarl, he shot forwards to do just that when stormy eyes jumped in palpable alarm and a tiny movement of Draco's hand brought things to a standstill. Harry's legs didn't seem to want to obey him anymore. The smear of red marring the edge of his sight sped away at maximum velocity and Harry's mind went frightfully blank. His arms hung awkwardly at his side as though waiting for him to command them again, and his gaze settled amicably on Draco. Harry peered up at him curiously and shuffled his feet.

"I killed Voldemort and saved all of Wizard kind," he said proudly.

"Did you now?" Draco quipped, fascinated in spite of himself. It was humiliating to have to endure Potter of all people fawning over him, but there had been real danger in those harried steps; the blackmail was an unexpected bonus.

Draco adjusted the Allure a notch, and trailed a lone, aristocratic fingertip down Potter's cheek. He controlled his disgusted amusement well when Potter leaned into the palm of his hand like a contented Kneazle. Before Draco could exploit this game much further, he caught a flicker of movement at the far side of his peripheral vision. The rest of Potter's lackeys were watching him with varying degrees of rapt appreciation, even the Weasel. Okay, that was enough. The thought of that ginger monstrosity attempting to touch him was sufficiently traumatic to make even taunting Potter lose its appeal. Draco suffered a moment's regret that he wasn't able to tease Potter just a mite longer, but the War had taught him that even a Malfoy couldn't always have his way. It was time to lift the Allure.

Harry slowly surfaced from that dream world where everything was soft and out of focus to realise with swiftly dawning horror that he was much, much too close to Malfoy's face.

"What's the matter, Potter? Aren't you going to finish what you started?" Draco all but cooed at him, lips parted mockingly. Harry scrambled back with a Seeker's speed, cheeks burning a most intriguing shade of magenta. Oh sweet Circe, had he been about to kiss the sneaky bastard!

Harry struggled to lower the wand he didn't remember drawing and attempted to rein in the impulse to hex the blighter to Wales, or perhaps Greenland, when suddenly faced with his best friend standing quite solidly between them. A besotted Ron Weasley was generally easy to handle, and knowing the source of those glassy eyes and earnest face, Harry did what any good friend should, and punched him square in the jaw.

Harry then helped him to his feet, hoping that sanity had returned with the brief stint of pain. "Guess we'll both have to come back some time to retrieve our dignity, yeah?" he offered by way of acknowledging the subject and moving on thank you kindly.

"Please, please don't mention this to Hermione," Ron muttered with agonized eyes, evidently still reeling from the fact he'd defended Draco Malfoy.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Harry grinned, relaxing a bit for the first time since he'd seen that damned newspaper. "Alright then," he turned to the other Aurors with as much authority he could manage, "let's go check the wards on this place and see if we can reinforce them. After that, we can spread out and talk to the Veela, figure out if they have any idea who would want to attack them. Dean, you and," he gestured to Trainee number one, "come with me, and you," Harry squinted to read the other's nametag, "Lewis, go with Ron."

Orders given with minimal mishaps, Harry winked apologetically to Ron, and set off to examine the perimeters. Ron and Harry had five years' experience at this, plus the combat they'd faced during the War, so it really was best to divide their strength to avoid any accidents. Dean was shaping up to be fantastic, but he and Ron would be less likely to get distracted and bollocks it up for the trainees. Lewis and Paxton, Harry reprimanded himself sharply. He really ought to stop thinking of them like cattle, even if they lived up to the expectation more often than not.

Harry supposed, belatedly, that he should have expected Malfoy to follow them, regardless of how much it put him ill at ease. The Veela was unpredictable and wicked fast, traits Harry appreciated in a Snitch, but not someone he much liked having near him while trying to work, especially when that Veela was Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy! We're trying to keep the lot of you safe, and you are completely in the way. Shove off yeah?" And Harry hoped that would be the end of it, but of course Fate hated him and so the blond stayed. Wanker.

"Keeping us safe?" Draco asked in a deceptively calm voice. "Where were you when the others were slaughtered like pigs? I have family in danger and none of your Aurors were there to save them!" His voice ended on a high-pitched sound that no human throat should be able to make. But this was Malfoy, and Harry had always known he couldn't be completely human anyway.

Temper scarcely in check, Harry spoke through clenched teeth. "We are here now, and are trying to do our job. So would you kindly shut up?"

The blond looked ready to rip Harry apart, but a woman he didn't recognise placed a hand on Draco's arm and drew him back. He glanced briefly at her face, seeing the agony and worry etched there like a hieroglyph, and felt the aggravation ease just a little.

Successfully de-Malfoy-ed for the moment, they were at last able to conjure strong wards into being and Harry nodded as he pressed against them. Moving to check on the other team revealed less promising results; weak and improperly formed, they wobbled dangerously under his inspection. Just as he opened his mouth to demand an explanation of his normally capable best friend, however, everything exploded into a cloud of white.


	2. Instincts

Harry Potter and the Trouble With Veela

Chapter 2: Instincts

Harry spat out the mouthful of dust he'd all but inhaled when shoved down to the ground by someone he couldn't see, and turned to ask what exactly they thought they were doing, assaulting an Auror like that, but the words seemed to have been Vanished, elsewhere. He'd been expecting to see Ron pinning him to the ground, as though trying to forever make amends for things in the past that had little bearing on the present, but met instead a very different face. He must have struck his head harder than he'd thought, because it looked as though Draco Malfoy was curved around him in a protective stance. Yes, Harry was clearly concussed. When he attempted to move, however, a hand, stronger than he'd have anticipated, pressed down between his shoulder blades and made him snog the dirt once again.

"What gives?" he asked the ground, glasses knocked askew and getting rather uncomfortable, trapped as he was.

"Shut up and don't move," Draco hissed above him, in a whisper that he felt rather than heard. The shadow of something like a claw clicked directly above his spine, and Harry decided to obey, for now. Minutes ticked by on a clock not controlled by human hands, and he was decidedly impatient. He was an Auror for Merlin's sake, not some child to be coddled!

With a grunt of effort, he finally dislodged the body restraining him, and fully intended to give Draco a talking-to, but was rather unsettled by the blond's expression. Before he could ask why Draco looked like someone had cancelled Christmas, however, he was thrown into the melee without so much as a how do you do. Dark spells were flying like deadly butterflies of bedazzling light, and Harry's wand seemed directed by a hand that could see things he couldn't, anticipating his intentions almost before he'd spoken the incantations.

Draco's mouth went strangely dry, watching Potter fight like that. He might have been dancing to the music of the fae for all the attention he appeared to be paying to his surrounding, and yet, no errant curse struck him. Draco had been expecting Potter to move like a lumbering bull, but instead, he was quick and agile and almost, pleasant, to watch.

Pushed rather rudely behind a hastily erected ring of protection, Draco was left to observe Potter, as he whirled through the cloaked enemies (of course they would be disguised) like a dervish, protecting the children who had been playing outside, enjoying the abnormally warm Spring day. With age came certain responsibilities, he supposed, eyeing them, curled against his back and shaking. They were too young to understand war or hatred, and their innocence lightened his heart minutely. He petted the golden head of the young girl nearest him absently, and was about to say something comforting, when a horrible scream reached his ears.

Age could not, however, take away the horror of witnessing one's mother being tortured 'just because.'

"MOTHER!" he shouted on a strangled note, attempting to break through the protective barrier at any cost to reach her, when Harry Potter made it suddenly quite unnecessary.

"You shouldn't have done that," Harry said in an eerily quiet voice, breaking the bastard's line of fire with his own body as a shield, though the spell quickly dissipated in the wake of his retaliation.

The Auror's wand cracked through the air like a whip, and indeed struck Narcissa's assailant much like the same, as he recoiled from a wide gash on his wand arm, so fixated on the pour of red that he scarcely seemed to notice when he'd been Bound and Disarmed. Draco could _smell_ his fear from where he crouched, and blinked. Potter was quite serious about his duties, when push came to shove and for that, he was thankful.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Narcissa whispered softly, once she had breath enough to speak, held against his side carefully.

Harry smiled awkwardly at her, before separating the wards enough to pass her through to a very anxious Draco.

"You're welcome Mrs. Malfoy. Er, Draco," and the name was foreign on his tongue, but, it would have been even stranger at that moment to call him by surname only, "I'll leave her to you, yeah? There are more of these bastards; I can feel them," and then looked vaguely abashed for his language. Parental or authority figures always did put him in a strange state of mind.

There was a most curious sensation in Draco's chest as his keen eyes followed Potter's progression through the field.

"Guess those awards and Order of Merlin aren't just for show after all," he muttered against his mother's brow, wrapping her tightly in his arms and wishing to help, somehow.

Something burned hot and fierce in his chest as though he'd just taken a long draught of Firewhisky and drained it rather more quickly than was his custom. When this mess was cleaned up, and she was feeling steadier, he'd be having a talk with his mother.

"RON!" Harry yelled, struggling three to one as he saw his best friend fall to the ground, not moving. With a roar worthy of his former House, Harry blew them back and down, and shot to his side quick as, lightning.

Harry visibly shook as he approached the prone redhead, but his wand arm was solid as he circled the man that Ron had been duelling.

"You'd better be thankful, that this is not during a time of war, or you'd be dead where you stand," Harry spat, slashing the holly wand through the unmistakeable arc of an _Incarcerous_. His opponent neatly side-stepped it, watching Harry through narrowed eyes, sneering as though such paltry spells were entirely beneath him.

"Oh ho! Is precious Potter so worried for his ickle friends that he's willing to go to Azkaban for it? What happened to your sense of righteousness, or has it just always been _self_-righteousness, -Potter-?" And boy if he didn't spit Harry's name the way Malfoy once did. "Are you really so far above the law that you can just toss people aside as you please?" The man scoffed with a nasty curl of his lip, heavily Glamoured of course.

In answer, Harry threw a particularly unpleasant Blasting Hex his way and knocked him off of his feet. His _Incarcerous_ did not miss.

"You'll be read your rights later you piece of shit," he snarled, and cast nearly-hysterical eyes about the area to see how the rest of them were faring before sprinting to Ron's aid.

"Ron! RON! Can you hear me?" he asked frantically, putting a gentle hand on the side of his friend's face. He was _terrified_. "Ron?" he tried again, voice hitching despite his best efforts. "Mate, please, -please- talk to me." They didn't have time to stop, but Harry had no choice. That was his best friend, and if these attackers had killed an Auror, there would be –blood.-

Harry was getting a little sick from craning his neck at such an angle, and looking in seven different ways all at once, but he really couldn't take his eyes off of Ron, -or- the fight, but he had to know, one way or, the other…

What felt like an hour later, Harry finally saw a flicker of blue as Ron's eyelids fluttered in an attempt to open them.

"Thank Merlin!" he cried in relief, before Levitating his best mate up and over behind the barrier as well. "I know you'll be pissed at me later for this Ron, but until this is taken care of, I've got to know you're safe too."

Ron was amazingly compliant, most likely due to his rather muddied state of mind. Harry would worry about potential brain damage later, for now, he had to jump straight back into the fray because the trainees were forgetting all of their training, and Dean could only do so much by himself.

Draco watched with a quiet intensity as Potter drove the remaining assailants into a corner and bound their hands and took their wands from them, and wondered what that must feel like, such soul-deep devotion as Weasley had from Potter. He supposed it must be nice. The mysterious, warm pulse in his chest seemed to agree, and he wondered why he had the sudden urge to go the Auror, whether to hex him, or something else he didn't care to extrapolate on at the moment, he could not be sure.

Draco sighed in the commotion. Why did his life always have to tip upside down when Potter became involved? Couldn't the bastard just leave him in peace, ever? He imagined that Potter might feel somewhat the same way, but he wasn't interested in what that bloke felt, truly, even if a tiny, niggling voice (that sounded suspiciously like Narcissa) in the back of his mind argued otherwise. But if that were true, it contested softly, then why had he moved to protect Potter in the first place, and why was he taking the time to think it over, if he already knew the answer?

There were indeed more of the attackers waiting for them, just like Harry had predicted, and he swore loudly as Dean narrowly avoided being gutted like a fish by one of their spells. This had to end, now, before any more damage could be done, and before those assholes managed to break through the ward Harry had erected. He shook his head free of that awful prospect and drew on magic he'd reserved for such an emergency. If Ron hadn't been out of commission, their odds would be better, but as it stood, they might lose, and he refused to let that happen.

He'd researched (with Hermione's help of course) about tapping into one's magical core for a temporary boost of power. (Sometimes, a still-young part of his mind liked to think of it as a special attack move, a finishing combination really, like in some of Dudley's video games that he remembered from what felt like an entirely different life).

Harry shook his head. Now really wasn't the time, was it? Thusly refocused, he brought to mind the emerald glow of his magic, wrapped around him like a warm, green cocoon, and called to the seat of his strength, requesting its aid. Without it, under the circumstances, well, Harry preferred not to think about the possible ramifications.

He Conjured a chain that sizzled as it swept through the air, capturing the remaining enemies and tethering them together with ties that would not be easily broken, indeed, would not be dissolved at all until Harry himself did something about it. He tittered in his head at his 'chain of justice,' and would have chided himself for such paltry humour, but was currently too disoriented to really do much else other than slide limply to the floor, the protective barrier dissipating as he hovered just this side of consciousness.

"Potter you great idiot!" Draco shouted, catching him as he swayed on his feet, frowning down into the ashy face beneath him and feeling his forehead for the tell-tale fever that went with magical exhaustion. Potter was burning up.

He swore under his breath before addressing the other Veela who had come out to see what the commotion was all about.

"The Aurors were injured. Help me bring them inside," he said sternly, half-carrying, half-dragging Potter inside. "No one goes outside until they've recovered and have finished securing the perimeter. No one!"

'Come on Potter, you can't die yet! I've got some questions for you, and my mother,' Draco thought fervently, grey eyes fixed on Harry's too-pale face. "Who else am I supposed to take the mickey out of through this, eh, Potter?"

Harry's first thought was that Malfoy was being entirely too charitable given their history, recent and not. His second was that Malfoy's hand against his cheek was pleasantly cool, and tried to press more of his face against it, but the effort required strained him just that tiny bit further, and Harry knew no more as everything faded to grey and black.


	3. Lessons Learned

Harry Potter and the Trouble with Veela

Chapter 3: Lessons Learned

Draco was _agitated_. No Malfoy liked to be kept waiting, and it was one small luxury he could still afford, living on the heath the way they were. He hadn't been away from the Manor for so long since graduation. It was an acceptable stretch of land, if not as expansive as he was accustomed, and adequate lodging he supposed, if one were to overlook the way they were cloistered together like nuns or sardines. A Malfoy was used to space, and ample amounts of it, obscene amounts of it really; twenty rooms in the Manor scarcely saw use once a year, but sacrifices must be made at this time. He could accept that, really; at least he didn't have to share a room with some stranger. Certain things could not be tolerated regardless of the extenuating circumstances; this isolation wore on him, as well as his temper. He was a Malfoy after all, not some diseased creature to be held in captivity.

That was a great deal of the reason why he was here, anyway, watching Potter toss and turn in uneasy slumber. He wished the dolt would just wake up already. Potter had been asleep for sixteen hours according to the clock on the wall, which could at least be trusted to tell the time, though there was no guarantee what language it might tell it –in-. Surely that was enough by now?

"Are you just going to lie there like a limp fish forever, Potter, or are you going to get up sometime this century?" Draco asked with a tinge of impatience. He needed something to do, and while Narcissa was resting, Potter was fair game.

Harry stirred briefly, before reverting to his near-comatose state.

"Dammit, get up already, you lazy sod!" Draco half-shouted, kicking the foot of Harry's bed rather more enthusiastically than was strictly necessary.

"'Msorry!" Harry blurted out in a much younger voice, then covered his face with his arms in a defensive gesture as he drifted back into that enchanted sleep of the magically drained.

Draco stared in shock at Harry's sleeping form and frowned as he worked through various hypotheses. Why would someone like Potter respond that way? Did he, too, still revisit the Dark Lord in his dreams the way that Draco did? But if that were true, why would he say 'I'm sorry?' He was by no means an expert on the man, although he felt that he knew enough to say with a degree of conviction that Potter would never apologise to the Dark Lord.

He had heard the rumours about Potter's nightmares of course; they had sparked many a delightful joke in the Slytherin common room on an extraordinary number of occasions, but Draco had always assumed they were nothing special. He should have known better, perhaps, as _everything_ about Potter went above and beyond the mere mediocre.

He stayed there for another twenty minutes or so, mulling things over while Potter talked nonsense in his sleep, then slipped out of the room on silent feet to rouse his mother, although considerably more politely. He scarcely noticed when his feet stopped automatically at the entrance to his mother's room. The gryphon shaped doorknob turned easily in his hand as he stepped into her temporary bedroom, pale walls warmed by the final rays of the setting sun.

"Mother," Draco whispered, settling himself into the plush chair next to her bed, "how are you feeling?"

"I am well enough darling. I have suffered and survived far worse at the hands of more capable wizards than that vulgar thug. Mr Potter saved me from the brunt of what he intended anyway. He really is as noble as rumour says, isn't he, though perhaps he was merely repaying an old debt." She glanced away for a moment then repositioned herself on the down pillows and regarded him closely. He never had been able to hide anything from her knowing eyes. "Whatever is the matter Draco? You seldom look so troubled. Was someone injured in the attack apart from Auror Weasley?"

"It's Potter," he said miserably. "I thought that I was finally rid of him, yet he managed to show up even here. Of all the teams of Aurors, why did it have to be his?"

"Isn't it always?" Narcissa teased him gently, looking much better than she had the last time he saw her. He supposed that he owed Potter for that, too.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, though he had a faint notion of what she might say.

She pursed her lips for a fleeting instant, before raising one perfect eyebrow as though to ask who he thought he was fooling. "Draco, don't feign ignorance when you know full well what I mean. For over half of your young life, when something was amiss, it could be traced back to Mr Potter nearly every time. The instance when Miss Granger lashed out like a Muggle notwithstanding, you have always had something to say about Harry Potter."

Draco had the grace to look properly contrite. "I see that you remain as astute as ever, Mother." He sighed soul-deep, and met her calm gaze ruefully. "There are some things that I simply do not understand-many things actually, and so I came to you to try and comprehend what I cannot." He searched her face for some kind of explanation.

Narcissa fussed with the comforter the way she had fussed with Draco's dress robes in the past before answering him. It indicated that she was most likely stalling; for what reason Draco could not guess. "Well, what is it that you are unclear about?"

Draco's cheeks felt distinctly warm. "Whatever this, _thing_, is with Potter. I don't understand it at all. I had no reason to try and protect him during the attack. I've never felt that urge before. Why now? He's an Auror for Merlin's sake; he can protect himself. If it were one of the children, I wouldn't think twice about it, but, Potter?" He was well and truly flummoxed.

"Ah," she said softly, "so that's it. Draco darling, think for a moment. Can you remember what was going through your mind just before those vagrants attacked us? What you were thinking about, doing, or feeling?" She said the last with the subtle emphasis she favoured when she was amused about something. Draco did not find any of this remotely entertaining, and sulked quietly.

"I was arguing with Potter, and angry about his attitude, trying to act as though he cared about any of us," he trailed off when she half-smiled at him, and huffed. "That's all I can really recall, though."

She nodded demurely. "I see. You were angry, distressed over the circumstances, and then they appeared." He wasn't sure if she was going to continue, but at length, she did. "I believe that your instincts took over when Mr Potter was threatened," she said carefully.

Draco scoffed. "The only instincts that I have when he's around are to punch him."

Narcissa sighed. "Don't be difficult, Draco. There is no shame in following your destiny, rather than fighting it as you have for so long."

"What are you talking about Mother? You know as well as I that there is no such thing as a 'destined mate' or some such nonsense. We all have free will," Draco said with no little confusion. It was very unlike his mother to speak of such frivolous things like this.

She gazed past him to the window where dusk had darkened the sky, and the night-blooming jasmine began to open its petals to the balmy evening. "Draco, do you remember what you said to me all those years ago on a night much like this one?"

Draco searched his memories until he came across the one he was sure she was speaking of. "I said that twilight is a special time, neither night nor day, but on the edge of both, waiting to become something more than what it is. I said it was a lot like magic, because if magic had a home, that would be where it lived, on the edge of good and bad. I don't see what a child's ridiculous babbling has to do with-"

But for the first time that he could remember, Narcissa interrupted him. "You're correct, Draco, but that was not the only thing we discussed over our Darjeeling. Do you remember telling me that you had had an awful first week of school and that Mr Potter had chosen to befriend a Weasley over you, but that it didn't matter because you'd make sure to get his attention anyway? And every other little bump in the road over the years that had to do with Harry Potter?"

Draco felt the beginnings of panic stir at the back of his throat, but swallowed it back the way he always did. 'If you are afraid, then you become your fear, and will likely make poor choices as a result,' Narcissa Malfoy, circa 2006. "At the risk of sounding incompetent, Mother, I still don't understand what you are trying to say." It was true; Draco was altogether at a loss.

"What I am saying, dearest, is that every moment has been leading up to this for some time now. Perhaps even since that day in Madam Malkins your path has been set. You wanted that boy to notice you, so, your magic listened. But you were untrained, your magic young and wild, and had not yet come into ownership of the strength that you now possess. And so, it didn't quite go the way you'd hoped. You left an impression on Mr Potter that is certain, however, I daresay that the stronger one was left upon you. It is a gradual process, a daunting one, even, but your magic has deemed Mr Potter the best match for you Draco darling. At any point over the years, you could have drifted off of this path, but you never did. You never could quite get that boy out of your head, could you?" She smiled gently at him, holding her hand out for him to touch, and clasping his fingers in hers as though to ease the sting, the _humiliation_ that he had brought all of this upon himself. "It is not often that a Veela's underlying magic intervenes in the selection of a partner, however, the best way that I can think of to explain the unexplainable to you, is this. When someone has such extreme experiences with another person, the way you have with Mr Potter, and so many over time, a bond is formed whether you notice it or not. He has saved your life, the way that you have saved his, the way that I have saved his, and that, my Dragon, is powerful magic. He was the first you attempted to influence, the first whose attention you sought for its own merit, and the first to cause you pain. He has marked your skin in a way that I believe your magic may have viewed as a very dramatic staking of a claim, after a fashion. He is also the first to evoke such a strong example of your heritage."

Draco recalled that incident in the ghost's bathroom with renewed anguish. Always interfering, aren't you Potter? Narcissa's voice crept in on his silent panic. "Alone, these events would have been fairly inconsequential, but, together, they have forged a connection between the two of you that has been made all the stronger by your blood, and Mr Potter's own magic." She paused as though fearing she had said too much, but he had to understand, somehow. "At any point in the past you could have chosen differently, but the choices you've made, have brought us to now, in this room, having this discussion."

"So I sealed my own fate," Draco said slowly, his heart sinking to somewhere around his kneecaps.

"Yes Darling. And I'd say that you rather set things in stone when you used the Allure on him again, to full effect this time, and then shielded him from a threat. Your magic has decided on him, Draco, and I'm afraid that it is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to dissuade it at this stage in the game."

"How difficult is extremely difficult?" Draco asked with feeling.

Narcissa regarded her son cautiously, but not without compassion. "Draco, no one has been able to reverse the process once it's been rooted so deeply, in history recent or long ago, save for one other male Veela who chose to die, rather than accept another man as his Chosen. I believe that you are stronger than he was. You are a great many things, my son, but a coward, you are not. I ask of you not to prove me wrong."

Draco attempted to process this avalanche of indigestible news, and then blanched rapidly. "How am I supposed to explain this to Potter? He'll blame me; he won't believe me, and even if he eventually did, why should it matter to him?" His head sank onto his hands as he tried desperately to _think_.

"You might try appealing to his sense of duty and justice, and desire for a family. That is something he covets jealously. An unbreakable pledge of loyalty that will give rise to everlasting love might give him reason to consider. Nothing in this world, magical or otherwise, can rival the bond between a Veela and its chosen soul mate. I might suggest gradually introducing these concepts as you court him. Also," she paused just a moment to take his hand and squeeze it gently, "it couldn't hurt to let him get to know the man you have become, and to forget the schoolboy he remembers."

Draco peered up at her hesitantly. "Thank you mother, you have given me a sliver of hope and that is something I had not dared to dream of amidst this chaos."

Narcissa smiled and leaned forward to kiss his cheek affectionately. "It might ease some of your apprehension, to approach this situation as you would one of Severus' more challenging trials. You must be delicate; you must be considerate; you must be patient, and above all, you must be persistent. Do not allow him to take the Veela's call, or you, lightly." She then fixed him with an expression that she only wore under the most grave of circumstances. "That boy is starved for affection and acceptance, and the desperate, consuming need for love. If you can show him those things, then he will surrender all the sooner, and be thankful for it. Come to love him, Draco, and he will not turn you away. And careful usage of the Allure mightn't go awry to ease the way." Her features relaxed and she merely stroked his hair while he trembled under the weight of this new burden that he had to bear, and for now it was his to carry alone.


	4. Draco, Interrupted

Harry Potter and the Trouble with Veela

Chapter 4: Draco, Interrupted

Twenty-four hours and infinite cups of tea later saw Draco well-caffeinated, but no closer to an answer to his Potter problem. His mother's rousing speech was all well and good, but he couldn't precisely march up to Potter, suddenly calling him Harry, go all doe-eyed and profess his undying love (not that he loved him); he'd be hexed six ways from Sunday, and Draco couldn't blame him. Even in his head it sounded entirely out of character for him, and totally impossible, which meant that it had to be true. Draco paused mid-silent soliloquy. On the other hand, Potter had been in Gryffindor, which meant that he was perhaps just that gullible for it to be a viable option after all. Potter would be so positively thunderstruck that he'd _have_ to hear Draco out! And by then, of course, Draco would have him backed against a wall, and under the Allure so fast he'd be –gagging- for it, and then Draco would have snogged him senseless, bound, Bonded, and bedded before he knew what hit him! Draco patted himself on the back for a devious ploy well-devised. He was a genius! With that comforting thought, he sauntered down the hallway to Potter's room with a new spring in his step, confident in the first phase of Operation Seduce the Saviour.

Draco knew how he must look, hovering over Potter while he slept, but the compulsion to see him had been persistent enough that he could no longer ignore it like a Crup puppy. Then again, he sort of liked Crups, and didn't know –how- to feel about Potter, so perhaps that wasn't the comparison he was looking for.

He observed Potter with a critical eye. The black hair was still messy and very reminiscent of a crow's nest; his face was still an awkward mix of too young, and too old, having seen too much, and he was still marked like a criminal or hero by that same scar as always. Draco idly wondered how Potter must feel about it, but didn't dwell on the thought overlong, because he had reached a terrifying conclusion. If Potter was exactly the same as he'd always been, then, by default, it had to be Draco who had changed. He _really_ wasn't sure how to feel about that, except that it was clearly all Potter's fault.

Somewhat pacified by that, Draco resumed his position near Harry's head, and out of a strange, inexplicable curiosity to see if the black tangle was any softer than it looked, he hesitantly brushed his fingertips through Harry's fringe. Aside from being in sore need of a good cut and deep conditioning treatment, it was actually in remarkably decent shape for a straight man. Draco frowned. Potter was straight, as in not bent. This was going to complicate things a bit. He was prevented from further musings by the arrival of Ron Weasley.

"Malfoy, what the ruddy hell do you think you're playing at?" Ron asked on a strangled whisper, looking back and forth between them in alarm. There was something so unnatural about seeing Draco Malfoy touch Harry without murder in his eyes that Ron's stomach turned over in protest. Of course it could also have been due to the potions he'd been fed, but that was neither here nor there.

The fact of the matter was that Malfoy was too close to Harry, and injured or no, he wasn't going to sit idly by while Harry was at risk.

Draco was not impressed.

"Hold your hippogriffs, Weasley," he whispered, seeking to maintain contact with Potter while not alarming the Weasel by doing so.

Draco had accepted the bond, which was the first step in sealing the deal, as it were, and was now attempting to initiate the imprinting phase. He had to learn Harry, and Harry had to learn him in turn. The fact that Harry was yet asleep had little bearing on things, he'd still come to know Draco all the same. Before they progressed to next stage of the bonding process, they would know one another by smell, touch, presence, and magical presence.

Draco did not appreciate this interruption, and scowled at Ron briefly before sighing in frustration.

"Sit down, Weasley. You and I are going to have a conversation like two adults, and you are going to listen; not as an Auror, not as Potter's best friend, but as a pureblood who understands the significance of certain old magics."

Ron paused to eye Draco the way he might a criminal in custody who had been arrested multiple times, convicted more than once, but swore that this time he was innocent.

"I don't trust you as far as I could throw Hagrid, Malfoy," Ron said in a near-growl, settling himself into the chair opposite Draco, "and I'm sitting down so that I can be closer to Harry, not to have a more civilised conversation with you."

Weasley plucked at his bandages, then nodded jerkily to Draco. "You have ten minutes."

Draco swallowed back what he wanted to say, and coerced his face into a cool smile.

"Well, Weasley, it's painfully simple, really, so allow me to be frank. I am a Veela, as you already knew, and Harry here, is my chosen, as you did not know." As the blood drained from the Weasel's face, the smile on Draco's lips did not falter, not even when he used Potter's given name. They weren't quite to that point yet, but Draco had said it mostly to see Weasley's expression as he did so. He was not disappointed.

"And as you are the first outside entity to become privy to this information, I now invoke the right of the Veela Seeker to an Ambassador, who I name as you, Ronald Weasley, throughout the Courting and Bonding processes."

Draco was entirely serious as he addressed Ron. Those grey eyes were very intense as they regarded him across the expanse of the bed where Harry lay. "The rituals of the Veela are sacred, and kept occluded for good reason. See to it that you do not violate this ancient tradition and its responsibilities, nor betray me, Draco Malfoy, the Veela who has placed his trust and faith in you. In the names of Aphrodite and Selene, so mote it be."

Ron gasped as warm silver magic wrapped around his wrist in much the same way that his marriage vows had done. What had he just gotten himself into?

"Relax, Weasley. It isn't going to hurt you. Unless you attempt to go against the terms, then it functions like an Unbreakable Vow. But you're a former Gryffindor and all that, so, helping a friend shouldn't prove that great of a hardship."

"We are –not- friends, Malfoy!" Ron seethed, hands clenched into tight fists against the supple leather of the chair.

Draco laughed heartily a moment. "Of course not," he said, then sobered as quickly as the sudden mirth had appeared. "But _he_ is," said Draco pointedly, "and you'd do anything for Harry, wouldn't you?"

Ron couldn't really say much against that, so he simply glowered at Draco in silence.

"Think of it this way," Draco added with an ounce of compassion, but no more, "if your best mate is to be Bonded to me, Draco Malfoy, purveyor of all things questionable, suspicious, and possibly illegal, but can never be proven and will never be prosecuted, wouldn't you _rather_ it were you at his side all the while, as opposed to someone else? It also means that you're immune to my Allure, and as I doubt you want a repeat performance of yesterday…" Draco let the words hover in the air, heavy with significance.

Ron scowled, though the self-entitled brat across from him had, in fact, struck a chord of truth. He would do anything for Harry. Even this, it seemed. "This is blackmail, Malfoy, blackmail."

Draco's lips twitched in amusement as he settled a pale hand atop of Harry's still one. "No, no, dearest Weasel; this is tradition."

"I must still be dreaming," Harry said groggily, starting to sit up, but was halted by Malfoy's palm against his chest.

"Don't move so fast or you'll disorient yourself and probably be sick all over the duvet," Draco said in warning, though did retract his hand. Harry was very glad for that, as it was making his head feel all muzzy for some reason. He'd probably been asleep too long, but Merlin, had he needed it.

"Why would you care what happens to me anyway?" Harry grumbled, unsure of things, and therefore very irritated about it, and started when his glasses were dropped onto the bridge of his nose, and everything came into focus.

"I thought you might want those, as you've been giving the wall very dirty looks for the past few minutes," Draco snarked, "and if you were aiming to turn my face into mincemeat, I thought you'd like to know where it was."

"I'd know where you –and- your face were even if I were blindfolded and Confunded," Harry said hotly, and immediately regretted it when a smirk spread across Draco's face.

"Oh really now?" Draco quipped flirtatiously. "Be careful now, _Harry_, or you might give people the wrong impression."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ron complained loudly, covering his face with a freckled hand. "Hiya, Harry," he added as an afterthought through splayed fingers.

"'Lo, Ron," Harry replied slowly. How had he not noticed the redhead before? The room was spacious to be sure, half the size of Harry's flat, but still not large enough to lose a Weasley in. He frowned as an unpleasant thought occurred to him. "Malfoy?"

"Yes, Harry?" Draco asked, arching an eyebrow curiously, leaning toward him subconsciously.

"Did you just, you know, use your allure on me?" Harry asked, voice soft and low, which Ron knew firsthand was a precursor to violence.

Draco's lips pressed into a thin line as though he were insulted, but forced himself to relax enough to scoff. "Really, Potter. You're _injured_. What on Earth could I possibly gain by influencing you right now? You wouldn't be able to do much of anything for me at the moment." The incredulous look he gave Harry made him feel vaguely guilty.

Harry blinked in confusion as he realised that this was the first time Malfoy had been hostile since he'd woken. Ten minutes had to be some kind of record. But before he could get a word in edgewise, Draco continued, "And the answer to your offensive question, Potter, is that, no, I did not. As you have not recently professed your undying love and devotion to me within the past thirty seconds, you should have been able to answer that for yourself. Oh Salazar save me from Gryffindors." With that, Draco stood, and made to take his leave, clearly unsettled, when a sort of alarm began to chime in Ron's ear.

That was all the warning that any of them had before Harry found himself flat on his back, and a very insistent Draco on top of him.

"Malfoy! What the hell do you think you're do-ing…" Harry's voice died somewhere in the back of his throat as Draco leaned in toward him. Damn the pillows for making escape impossible. And where was his wand when he needed it?

"Harry, shut up," Draco said, resting his forehead against Harry's, which somehow felt more intimate than the time he'd had Oliver Wood's mouth around his-and he really shouldn't be having these sorts of thoughts while pinned under Draco Malfoy, and squirmed.

Draco gasped and murmured something against his ear that Harry couldn't quite catch.

"What did you say?" Harry asked, not altogether certain when his arms had decided to wrap around Malfoy's neck, which was not at all a part of the plan to push him off and away, nor what that high-pitched noise was in the background.

"I thought I told you to shut up," Draco breathed, and before Harry could say 'Snitch,' had stolen a kiss that Harry didn't remember giving permission for.

Wide-eyed and suffering from an acute case of what-the-hell, Harry about threw Draco off of him in sheer panic, but then, his lips moved, and Harry, well, Harry sort of stopped thinking altogether.

He really couldn't be blamed for that. It had rather been a while since he'd had a lover, and never one that kissed quite like _that_. Like this? His head was fuzzy from healing potions and breathlessness, so things like tenses seemed very far removed from the situation at hand, er, mouth. Damn Malfoy for stealing his breath and the ability to think. Greedy bastard. Malfoy already had everything. Did he have to take Harry's air too?

Draco's hands, though just as greedy and entitled as the rest of him, did not divest Potter of his tattered, dirty robes the way they wanted (although he'd certainly be doing him a favour by doing so), and settled in to learn the curve of his side, and further explore the contradictory texture of his hair. He deserved a medal of recognition of the remarkable restraint he showed, but then recalled how the Ministry had tried to ruin the Malfoys, and decided, sod the medal; he'd just take more of Harry instead.

He tipped Harry's head back, nipping his lower lip and tracing the seam of his mouth with his tongue, and at the slight twinge of pain, Harry finally opened his eyes, and met Draco's gaze. Wow. From this close, his eyes weren't at all cold when they looked at him like that. They were sort of pretty, actually, and Draco himself was immersed in green flecked with gold that tracked his every move. He'd never seen Potter look so unguarded, and Harry had never seen Draco look so warm. Without thinking, Harry tested the texture of Draco's tongue, and snickered a little when he shuddered.

Someone was a little too voracious, and their teeth clacked together, which gave them pause enough to realise exactly what they'd been doing.

With the return of clarity came awkward tension that they could both have done without, lips still pressed together.

"Er, I don't know what just happened, but I think you'd best get off of me now, Malfoy."

Draco looked down at him intently. "I've had your tongue in my mouth, and vice versa. I think you can call me Draco."

Harry rescinded the 'sort of pretty' bit. "Don't want to."

Draco smirked. "Call me Draco, and I'll get off of you."

Harry wasn't an idiot. "Fine, fine. Deal, you conniving tosser," he agreed begrudgingly.

Draco stared at him in shock. "You just used a big word. I'm so proud of you."

"Oh shove off," Harry groused, slightly chilly now that Draco had moved away, but glad for the space. His head hurt, and he wasn't sure if he felt numb, or like something was burning.

It sounded as though a kettle was whistling at a rolling boil somewhere nearby, which was impossible, as there was no stove in the room, well equipped as it was. And then, they found the source of the noise.

Ron was frozen, staring ahead at the space where they'd been kissing a moment before (which Harry was absolutely certain would never happen again), mouth opening and closing like a confused fish, that high-pitched hiss, whistle, thing, coming from him. Draco idly wondered whether Weasley was even aware of it.

"Ron. Ron. RON," Harry tried to get his attention, all too aware of the colour in his cheeks and probably lips too, come to think of it.

"Huzzawha?" Ron replied eloquently, at last.

"You were hallucinating," Harry said in all seriousness, and Draco had to hold back a snigger. He was curious if Potter-nee-Harry, could, would get away with it. Bluff check in five, four, three… "You alright there, mate?"

Ron finally stopped imitating someone's cuppa overdone. "Never better," he replied at length, scrubbing at his face until he resembled a sunburnt nundu, though markedly less poisonous. Afterwards, he even looked sort of like he meant it.

They lapsed into the easy banter of old friends, something that Draco would never really know. He fidgeted uneasily (his mother's disapproving expression gnawing at the back of his mind until he stilled).

"I ought to let the two of you catch up," Draco said stiffly; it was mildly ridiculous, but gave him an out.

"Oi!" Harry called out to him just before Draco reached the door.

Draco paused and waited as patiently as he could manage under the circumstances.

"Mal-Draco. Why were you here, you know, with me? You never answered me."

And Salazar, but if Potter didn't sound vulnerable and boisterous at the same time.

"Because you matter," he said loudly enough to carry, but refused to turn around and face him, and bolted out the door before anything else could happen.

Harry looked pretty damn gobsmacked. "What the hell is with him?"

"Imprinting," Ron mumbled before engaging Harry in conversation on grounds that he had no better grasp on, but at least had experience with. Like the fact that they'd been found at a secured location, and attacked.

That had been far too close of a call to be coincidence, or sheer bad luck.

Someone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had to be involved.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP HPHPHP

A/N: I am SO sorry for the delayed update. I've had to rewrite this same chapter three times before being able to post it for you. Please forgive me, dear readers. #cry


	5. Something Wicked This Way Comes

Harry Potter and the Trouble with Veela

Chapter 5: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Harry spent the next day doing one of three things: worrying about the possible corruption within the Ministry, having nightmares about the corruption within the Ministry, or shooing Draco Malfoy out of his borrowed bedroom. Surprisingly enough, the last was incidentally the least of his problems, though considerably more annoying. Especially the bits where Malfoy watched him too closely, or touched him without permission, whereupon Harry would grouse and threaten to hex him, then Malfoy would subject Harry to the Allure and Harry would become a useless, babbling mass of Harry-shaped jelly and eventually fall back asleep only to later awaken, and the process would begin anew. Harry was beginning to be of the opinion that if reincarnation existed, it was bound to be a bitch of a cycle.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say that you –liked- being under my influence. Is that it then, _Harry_?" Draco asked, the smarmy git leaning forward and brushing his too pale fingers over the back of Harry's knuckles. And what was with him using Harry's first name all of a sudden? Harry had been perfectly content to continue as they'd been. There was no need to change what worked, and the less contact Harry had with Malfoy, the better.

Harry scowled. Not only had Malfoy insisted on addressing him as Harry, but had started touching him. A lot. He never would have pegged Malfoy (although a whisper in the back of his mind supplied 'Draco' instead-good thing that Harry had a lot of practice in ignoring the whispers in his head) for the touchy-feely sort. Then again, ever since that whole kiss-that-didn't-happen business, the blond had been remarkably non-combative.

Argh. This shit was too weird. And that was saying something, coming from Harry Potter, master of all things weird. He really ought to do something about that particular association, later, when he wasn't fighting for privacy from Draco sodding Malfoy.

"If I say yes, will you leave me alone?" Harry asked hopefully.

Draco gave him a thoroughly incredulous look. "You _do_ realise that you shouldn't be left to your own devices? Auror or no, you're still vulnerable for the moment."

Boy it rankled all kinds of Harry's senses that Malfoy was sort of right. "I've still got my wand," he said with a petulant huff, crossing his arms over his chest and thusly putting more of him out of Malfoy's reach. It did wonky things to his brain when the Veela touched him, and he didn't like it. At all.

"Harry," Draco said quietly, leaning closer to him. Harry's skin tingled, and he didn't like _that_ either. "You can't use magic for seventy-two hours, or else you'll just deplete yourself again, and be worse off for it the second time." He was trying to be patient, show his Chosen that he was worthy and kind and all that nonsense, but sweet Salazar, Harry tried his patience like no one ever had. The Veela in his mind pointed out helpfully that this was a good chunk of the reason why they were in this predicament now, because they'd never known how to leave each other alone. Yes, yes, they'd done this to themselves, but did he have to be reminded quite so often?

"I can hear your thoughts from over here," Harry said warily. "Care to tell me what's bothering you, since you won't leave me alone?"

Draco was –not- ready to talk about his embarrassingly Hufflepuff like thoughts, so instead, he turned the tables, as any former Slytherin would have done. "I could say the same for you. You've been muttering in your sleep, even." Draco looked at him then, in what Harry would have sworn was concern, and had it come from anyone else. They hated each other, and that was just the way things were. If a small corner of his brain suggested that things could change, he ignored it admirably.

But if that were true, then why had Malfoy helped him in the first place, and all that other weird business after the kiss that wasn't? He groaned softly. Malfoy made his head hurt.

"No, really, stop, the sudden influx of information might send me into a fit," Draco said blithely, brushing an errant strand of hair away from his face.

Harry almost laughed, almost. "Alright already, don't get your knickers in a twist. I-," he paused briefly, "I'm worried."

"Well, I'm so glad that we had this little chat," Draco said wearily. "What are you worried _about_, Harry?" He sincerely hoped that this conversation thing got easier, because, Merlin's pants.

Harry rolled his eyes, deciding against death by obnoxious prat. "I'm worried about what happened, okay? No one should have been able to find this place."

Draco watching him quietly, again, "You think that someone in the Ministry is involved, don't you?"

Harry blanched. "You're not supposed to use Legilimency like that, Malfoy!" Damn! And here he'd thought that he'd done better at maintaining his Occlumency shields.

Draco sighed, slumping back against the chair, and tilting his gaze up to the gently sloped ceiling, presumably in search of that elusive mistress Patience. "I'm not a Legililmens, Harry, as you should already know, what with them being registered through the Ministry and all. It's too much of a bother, if you ask me. But you just walked right through the trap door. How, exactly, are you an Auror? Don't answer that," he said quickly before Harry could open his mouth, the wanker.

Harry pulled a face. "I know what to expect from criminals, Malfoy. I've never known what to expect from you." Like he was suddenly trying to be a friend or something; that one threw Harry right off the map and into entirely uncharted territory.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Draco replied with a grin.

Malfoy could pass for a used broom salesman with that expression. "Please knock it off. I'm getting sort of creeped out over here," Harry remarked with a shudder.

Draco scoffed. "You just don't have an eye for art, Harry, even when it's staring you in the face, evidently. No matter, that'll change with time. Now," he continued brightly, "why don't you tell me what's going on with the Ministry, Wonder Boy?"

"I can't tell you anything that any other civilian doesn't already know, Malfoy," Harry said wearily after nearly twenty minutes of repeating himself. It was getting old, and fast.

Draco tossed his head in irritation like an Abraxan: proud, haughty, and out of patience with the world. "Harry," Draco said slowly, "I _already_ know more than the average citizen, considering that I _am_ one of the Veela under attack." He crossed his arms and watched Harry with a scrutinizing gaze. "I don't see what the harm would be in letting me be aware of the full risks posed to my family and me." He sort of sounded perplexed by then.

What happened to the reckless teenager he'd known? "I just don't get you, Potter," Draco said quietly. "What's so bad about wanting to keep my family, my _race_, safe from our enemies?" The pain beneath his words ate at Harry's resolve.

Harry wouldn't meet Draco's eyes. "You have got to be the single most infuriating, stubborn arse on the face of the planet," Harry grumbled.

"Does that mean you'll tell me something useful?" Draco asked, not bothering to mask his curiosity.

"What kind of a Slytherin are you, anyway? Your emotions are written across your face like some first year." Harry huffed, procrastinating. He was very good at that. Any of his Hogwarts professors would wholeheartedly agree.

"The sort who has progressed beyond the stereotypes of House affiliations, and has come to terms with the reality that some situations call for a more forward approach, for the sake of satisfying curiosity and soothing the less delicate nature of his companions," Draco replied succinctly.

Harry couldn't say for sure, but it almost sounded as though Malfoy had accused him of being insensitive. "You just don't give up, do you, Malfoy?" Harry asked rather than confirm that, no, he wasn't especially in touch with his feelings, though that was likely due more to the precarious nature of his upbringing rather than anything else.

Draco regarded him intently. "No, I don't, Harry. I don't give up until I have what I want." He said it with a smile that wouldn't be amiss on a shark, and Harry fidgeted.

"Er, right," Harry began uneasily, "so, about the Ministry," he said in a pitiful bid to change the subject.

"I'm all ears," Draco answered, settling himself comfortably into his chair, leaning forward with his best 'I'm listening' expression firmly in place, and Harry really wished that he wouldn't.

"Of course," Harry grumbled, "well, it's awfully strange that someone found you lot here, under Auror protection and surveillance. Bloody hell," he paused to scrub at his hair until he resembled a surprised hedgehog. "You do realise that I'm breaking about a dozen rules here, right, Malfoy?" Harry looked distinctly out of sorts.

Draco laughed, the bastard. "Rules? And since when have something as menial as rules ever deterred you in your oft misguided quests for 'justice' and other illusions? Come now, Harry. Surely you can do better than bleat feebly about the regulations of the Auror department in defence of the danger we face? Or," and Draco paused then, to skewer Harry with a soul-searing glance (Merlin! How _did_ he do that?), "or is your job just a job, and the great Harry Potter can't be arsed to worry about a few dozen Veela? Are we just half-breeds to you, Potter?" His eyes glittered bright and dangerous and Harry wanted to be offended at the implications, but just couldn't muster the energy.

"No, Malfoy. The only sort I'm biased against are Dark Wizards, and, unfortunately, they're just as human as you or me. Well, most of them are anyway. No one's a half-breed in my books," Harry said, regarding Draco with a strange expression. "So, you're not going to spontaneously jump down my throat again, are you? I don't fancy a repeat performance."

If Harry had learned anything from the war, apart from the fact that making Horcruxes was BAD juju, it was that he couldn't afford to be prejudiced or hold grudges. Severus Snape had taught him that. The man had certainly been a vicious, greasy, bastard, but he hadn't been _evil._ Harry had misjudged him somewhat, and that had been a bitter medicine to swallow, and sometimes it haunted him when things grew too still and quiet in the dark. So he really ought to try and ignore the uncomfortable sensations that happened around Malfoy, and grow up. Biting the 'bullet' was just easier said than done.

"I reckon I've been a bit of a git to you," Harry said haltingly.

"I reckon that you have," Draco agreed with one pale eyebrow arched in question. What exactly did he think he was playing at?

Harry scowled. "I notice that _you_ don't own up to any wrongdoings."

"Naturally," Draco answered smoothly. "Malfoys don't do 'I'm sorry.' However, fair is fair, so, I accept your slantwise apology. I know how heavily guilt must plague the conscience of saints," he added, looking at Harry from the corner of his vision.

Harry briefly considered Stunning himself, but ultimately decided that it would likely do more harm than good. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear that. So, truce then, Malfoy?" Harry asked. They were adults. They should act like them, or something.

"Draco," Draco said quietly, as though he wasn't sure what to make of this mess himself. And maybe he didn't.

"Pardon?" Harry replied, blinking.

"I said, call me Draco," Draco insisted calmly. "Referring to one another by surname, will only serve to remind us of our past enmity. So, Harry, call me Draco." He smiled, then, and Harry knew it to be genuine. Most likely.

Harry considered this a moment. Who knew exactly how long this assignment might last? And he –had- been the first to extend the olive branch, however hesitantly. It wasn't that far-fetched that Malfoy should extend it in return then, assuming of course, that he was honest about all of this reconciliation business. Who could ruddy tell with Slytherins anyway?

"Draco, then," Harry said slowly, no idiot, but decidedly unused to referring to Draco Malfoy by his given name. "That's going to take some getting used to, just so you know. It's nothing personal."

Draco shifted and crossed his ankles, eyeing Harry with something like exasperated fondness, which made absolutely no sense. "It's always been personal with us, Harry." He paused, as though giving thought to his next words. "Which is why you can trust me. What would I _gain_ by spreading privileged information around like some conspiracy theorist? Nothing that I desired, that's what," especially when what Draco desired most, was sitting diagonally from him, more quietly contemplative than he'd ever seen him, and from what Draco could deduce, flirting with the edge of that elusive mistress, _trust. _If Draco made an error now, it would surely prove fatal.

Harry faltered, swallowed his protests and spoke so softly that Draco had to lean forward to be able to hear him properly. "It isn't just the Veela who've been attacked, Draco. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is strained to its considerable limit trying to protect centaurs, werewolves, and even vampires." He laughed before continuing, "Protecting vampires isn't that fit to beat the band? But these are covens that adhere to Ministry guidelines, and don't harm humans, Wizarding or Muggle, and the murders were… Brutal." He looked a little bit sick as he remembered some undoubtedly awful scene.

"The centaurs don't trust us, of course, and that makes guarding them all the more difficult. It's a mess and a nightmare, but no one outside of the department has really paid attention, because they're only _near human_. Isn't that just an awful term?" He brought himself under control again, knocking back the glass of water that refilled itself near his bed, holding the glass tightly in his hands, and seeming to speak to it rather than Draco. "None of us know who's going to be next, and I'm not going to let it be-." His thoughts flickered to Victoire, and then to Draco and his mother, as his voice failed him, and his fingers tightened against the cool, smooth glass beneath them. "Draco, all of these people have been under Ministry protection, and yet, something, someone, always manages to get through. It's either one hell of a coincidence-"

But Draco interrupted him. "Harry. I'm sure you've lived long enough to know by now that there _are_ no coincidences, no tricks of Chance." His voice was softer than Harry might have imagined.

"Only people too blind to see the connection," Harry finished, eyes locked on Draco, impossibly wide, and the beginnings of panic not far away. "That means-"

But Draco interrupted him again. "You know as well as I do what it means. What you've suspected since the start of these specialised attacks, but didn't want to see any more than the rest of the Aurors. Someone deeply rooted within the Ministry is orchestrating these monstrous displays of violence, and possibly using others without their knowledge or consent, to assist in carrying it through."

Harry's face was very solemn. "The Imperius Curse."

"The one and the same, Harry. Or even something more sinister." Draco hesitated at first, but slowly, slowly enough that Harry could pull away at any time, rested his palm over the back of the white-knuckled hand nearest him. Harry didn't so much as flinch, though the crystal glass tumbled from his fingers like sand.

What Harry couldn't bring himself to tell Draco, was that, at each of these sites of destruction, it was _his_ team that had been called in to help. And that meant that someone Harry –knew- could be involved, probably was, involved. Maybe even Harry himself. There was more than one way to bend someone's will.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP HPHPHPHP

Meanwhile…

A woman who held herself in high regard, and indeed, with more than half of the respect she deserved, tidied her already tidy desk, and waved a wicked hand to grant entrance to the four persons who waited outside the heavily-ornamented door. She had always been unsuitably vain and self-important, leaving little room for how she viewed the rest of the world.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said softly, indicating the chairs around her with unnecessary pomp and circumstance.

They seemed momentarily confused, before taking the seats allotted them, each marked by a place card bearing his or her name. They did not speak, as they had been given neither leave nor indication to do so. They were so blessedly obedient, which suited her.

"Now that we're all cosy, I wish to discuss the situation which has been brought to my attention." She smiled at them, though she received none in return. "I am well aware of the constraints on your time, and will not keep you overlong. However, s_omething_ must be done about Harry Potter."

At the mention of his name, one of their number seemed to stir from a waking sleep that overshadowed his every being, but stilled again at the disapproving look she directed his way.

"Now that we have been made aware of the problem, it is now time for us to find a solution that benefits everyone. He has interfered too many times with our mission, and that simply will not do. That is what I wish all of you to think over until next we meet. See that you don't return empty-handed, or I shall be displeased." Even through their stupefied states, none of them cared to see that display again.

She allowed the heavy silence to linger until it coiled about them like a massive, hungry snake, waiting to squeeze the breath and life from them. Only then did she dispel it. "You may return to your families and positions until such time as I request your presence again. You will not speak of this occasion to anyone, as I'm sure you already knew. That will be all."

And so they departed for their distinct destinations, lies at the ready should they become necessary, planted there by their ever-vigilant 'leader.'

A storm was brewing in London, borne on the wings of hatred and fear, and of those in its path, few would survive.


End file.
